


The Soldier Waiting Quietly for the Judgement of His God

by realpoutydadsurvives (collettephinz)



Series: Once More With Chris [8]
Category: Biohazard | Resident Evil (Gameverse), Resident Evil - All Media Types
Genre: (between Chris and Piers), Angst, F/M, M/M, Manga: Resident Evil: The Marhawa Desire, a lil bit of identity porn, a tiny bit of comfort, alternating pov, appropriate violence for the series, coda to Marhawa desire, my favorite tag uwu, references to Chreon, references to previous games/animated movies, side character death (canonical), trauma and PTSD elements
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-27
Updated: 2020-04-27
Packaged: 2021-02-23 14:21:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 19,168
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23879452
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/collettephinz/pseuds/realpoutydadsurvives
Summary: “Wait!”Chris’s finger barely stayed from squeezing the trigger, his heart rate spiking for a moment as he feared what would come if Ricky begged him not to put down the infected man and just— let him devour them.Chris had seen that before too. Loved ones unable to let go and realize that the person they had lost was well and truly gone despite the mangled face that stared them down. He’d seen civilians willfully fall to the teeth of their family and Chris could only hope they were finally at peace. But letting Ricky do that to himself wasn’t an option and Chris didn’t know if he was going to be able to—Ricky took a step forward, tears streaming down his boyish features as he held his Sauer up and to his uncle’s head. “Let me.”Chris stared up at the kid, wondering why he kept mistaking young faces for immature. Leon, Steve, Piers, now Ricky. When would Chris stop forgetting how quickly trauma aged a person?
Relationships: Leon S. Kennedy/Chris Redfield, Merah Biji/Piers Nivans
Series: Once More With Chris [8]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1326299
Comments: 16
Kudos: 127





	The Soldier Waiting Quietly for the Judgement of His God

**Author's Note:**

> **òwó**
> 
> re6 is next

As Piers Nivans idly glanced around his captain’s office while being briefed, he noticed that there were not a lot of personal affects. 

He knew that his captain, Chris Redfield of the BSAA, was a practical guy who had few hobbies outside of going to the gym and fighting monsters, but Piers was pretty sure that level of commitment to work didn’t mean he couldn’t have a few things up in the boring brown of his office space at BSAA HQ in the UK. Piers had known many a boring-as-fuck superior back in the Army, but even those blank walls had been capable of a little decoration. Medals and photos and insignias, flags from deployment, honors in the form of weapons, even collections from stamps to bullet casings. 

Captain Redfield had almost _nothing._

It was sad, really. There was a single photo on the desk, but it was just a shot of a bunch of people facing the camera in dress blues, expressions stony without a smile in sight, all of the men and women facing the camera in two rows with the back drop of the BSAA insignia behind their heads. Piers recognized more than a few of them from around the office, like Jill Valentine and John Andrews and Parker Luciani and Director David Trapp standing tall in the center. On the wall was a firearm, a Heckler & Koch VP70M, cleaned and mounted, no description accompanying it. And that—

That was it.

Piers knew Cpt. Redfield had family, and he definitely had friends, and he more than likely had hobbies, and yet Piers saw none of that. He knew his captain wasn’t the kind of guy to be completely married to work considering how often he poured through mission specs and gutted every detail with scrutiny, obviously not completely trusting any of his supervisors. Piers didn’t know why or how that had happened, but it was obvious Cpt. Redfield didn’t trust this organization completely, so he had to have a life outside of it. And Piers had heard of Claire Redfield, just a bare minimum from the few times Cpt. Valentine and Cpt. Redfield had sat around and reminisced. Piers knew Cpt. Redfield had been involved in the origin of the slow-working BOW apocalypse, but he hadn’t known he was in Raccoon City like he’d overheard before. A low conversation in the lobby that Piers hadn’t been meant to hear, but couldn’t avoid due to his well-trained hearing. 

_“It’s just awful knowing they’re ready to bomb places again,”_ Cpt. Valentine had whispered. _“That has never done anything but make things worse— first home, then Terragrigia, and now—”_

 _“Raccoon City was overrun,”_ Cpt. Redfield had interrupted. _“We couldn’t have saved it and you know it. We were both in the worst of it. Raccoon City was gone before the bomb even dropped.”_

 _“It just isn’t fair,”_ the woman had lamented, casting her eyes across the room like she was looking for someone. Her gaze had landed on Piers, but she hadn’t even flinched. She obviously hadn’t mind him listening in. _“We can’t save these people if the government would rather wipe the slate clean and move on like it didn’t happen than try to rescue what few survivors there may be. Maybe it’s a waste of time and resources, but people who are willing to give up everything to survive have the right at a chance to make it out. What are we going to do when the next large scale break out happens? Let the survivors die at our hands rather than the enemy’s?”_

 _“I don’t know, Jill,”_ Cpt. Redfield had confessed, eyes going distant. _“… I just don’t know.”_

Looking back, Piers should have known from the start that Cpt. Redfield wasn’t the kind of guy to hand out smiles easily. He’d seen a lot, more than Piers could ever boast. 

Piers remembered his first exposure to the world of BOWs and monsters. Harvardville Airport— a large scale T-Virus infection that had claimed hundreds of lives. Piers remembered the fear he’d felt when facing the dark building that had once been a bustling airport, silenced by death and filled with the groans of the undead shambling about. He remembered wondering if he would even survive this, if the zombies would spill from the glass doors and overtake all the troops and eat them all alive. Piers remembered wondering if he was going to die on that tarmac and wondering if there was any hope for the world at all.

Then the doors had opened and survivors had come running through, waving their hands in the air with smiles of genuine relief on their faces that had told Piers he still had shit to fight for. And after the survivors had come one man, the one who had been sent in with two other combat specialists and come back out with six survivors. The man’s expression had been empty like a corpse’s and he’d held himself with unbothered strength and poise. He’d looked like those heroes in movies walking with their backs to explosions, but with less corny-effects and more unbridled courage. If this guy could walk out of that horrible place so unbothered, then Piers had thought maybe there was a little hope left. So long as people like that were there to fight for the world, they’d be fine.

And that was why Piers had gone BSAA— he wanted to be like that man he’d seen striding out of the airport without a flinch. He wanted to be one of the people that stood between the survivors and the monsters. He wanted to be the last and only line of defense. He wanted to help.

“Nivans?”

Piers’s parade rest jolted as he fell from his thoughts, dragging himself back to the informal briefing with his captain and fumbling for an excuse as to why he hadn’t been listening. To his disbelief, Cpt. Redfield gave him the tiniest of smiles. “You back with me, soldier?”

“I’m back,” Piers said, reminding himself that Cpt. Redfield was _full_ of surprises. “Sorry.”

“It’s fine,” the captain assured him, waving him off. “I— knew a guy who did that. Got lost in his head. He was smart. Capable. An amazing fighter, too. I could never really begrudge him for those moments cause he always made up for it when it counted.”

Cpt. Redfield’s expression was more sad than wistful as he told Piers this. Piers wondered if Cpt. Redfield had a picture of this mysterious person. He then wondered if all the important photos weren’t on the walls, but inside the desk. He knew of one locked drawer just above Cpt. Redifled’s lap— maybe, since Cpt. Redfield didn’t trust the BSAA for shit, he hid the things that mattered to him in an attempt to protect them.

“I’m back, Sir,” Piers promised. “What were you saying?”

“I was informing you of the political repercussions we’re expecting for the Eastern Slav Republic fiasco,” Cpt. Redfield said, all business once more. “The BSAA is considering a blanket offer of aid now that we’ve seen the consequences of providing aid to only United Nations related agencies. The Eastern Slav Republic’s BOW problem shouldn’t have fallen to an American organization and should have instead been given us, but intel states that the informant who had reached out to the American government had felt we would deny request for aid.”

Piers’s brow raised. “There was an American over there? I thought all U.S. citizens had been evacuated the night before the bombing.”

“There was a single American agent who missed rendezvous and sequential air evac,” Cpt. Redfield said with an unreadable expression. But his hands were tight fists on his desk, so Piers knew he was upset about _something._ Did he not like the U.S. government? Piers actually kinda liked the acting president. He knew a new anti-BOW agency was being fabricated with international intentions. What was there not to like? “A lone agent should never be an option for any organization,” Cpt. Redfield continued carefully. “Everyone should have a team.”

“Did the guy die?” Piers asked. When Cpt. Redfield visibly flinched at the question, Piers fumbled to recover even though he wasn’t sure what had been wrong with his question. “I-I hope he— or she!— isn’t dead, of course, I was just wondering cause normally people don’t care until there’s a body count. Which isn’t a good thing! At all! But that’s just…” He trailed off as he realized he wasn’t helping things. “… Normally how it works.”

Cpt. Redfield’s expression was grim. “… You’re not wrong,” he finally said, causing Piers to relax when he realized that, again, he wasn’t in trouble. Cpt. Redfield really was unlike anyone Piers had worked under. He was so glad he’d gotten assigned to the man. “I have made my opinions on one-man teams in BOW incidents well known to all agencies we work with, but the U.S. government, unfortunately, has a particular ace in the hole of an agent that, sadly, tends to do his best work when alone. That being said, he was sent into a bad situation and almost didn’t make it out, according to the reports. And because of this, the BSAA will be revising response qualifications to be more accepting of pleas from outside the U.N. No agency or country should be denied aid over politics, and agents of different organizations should be given backup from us if they need it with paperwork saved for after, not before.”

“That’s a big leap of progress there,” Piers said with a little awe. “… Did you suggest this, Sir?”

Cpt. Redfield’s expression was still grim. “I did.”

Piers nodded. “Well— I’m glad the guy made it out, right?”

Cpt. Redfield made to respond, but the door was suddenly flung open, two people clambering into the room without permission. Piers took a step to the side as Cpt. Andrews and Cpt. Valentine spilled in, beelining for Cpt. Redfield’s desk. “What the fu—”

“Chris, answer line one.” Cpt. Valentine interrupted him unapologetically. Cpt. Redfield made a face, but she glared him into submission. “ _Answer it._ ”

“On speaker!” Cpt. Andrews added.

Piers inwardly winced, seeing how caged his captain felt. He wanted to help, maybe get some of the attention off of him, so he said, “The captain was telling me—”

“Piers, for the last time, it’s Chris.”

Piers was stunned into silence by his captain— by _Chris_ reminding him that he wanted to be on a first name basis. How could Piers forget? Chris really was the strangest man Piers had ever worked under.

“This better be important,” Chris grumbled at the other two captains in the room as he picked up his desk phone and hit the speaker button, sighing, “Captain Chris Redfield of the BSAA— who am I speaking to?”

There was a long quiet to the question and Piers almost thought this was some sort of prank call, until he saw Cpt. Valentine visibly holding herself back from biting her nails and Cpt. Andrews almost starting to pace. Still, seconds of silence dragged on and Chris looked ready to hang up just when a voice came through the speaker. A male’s voice, a little tired sounding, saying softly, _“Chris?”_

Chris went rigid in his seat. He paled and colored at the same time, staring at the phone in shock. Piers had no idea what the fuck was going on. His captain cleared his throat, visibly shaking himself before responding with a quiet, “Leon?”

Cpt. Andrews threw his hands in the air like he was praising jesus. Piers had no idea who this was.

_“… Hey. Uh. Long time, no speak, right?”_

“Jesus, Leon,” Chris sputtered, running a hand down his face. Whoever this was, Chris had history with the man. “I— yeah. Long time, no speak.”

 _“I was trying to call Jill for help on something, but she suddenly put me on hold and I’ve been waiting for, like, ten minutes.”_ The guy— this Leon— sounded almost annoyed. _“Didn’t think she was gonna transfer me to you.”_

“Do you want me to hang up?”

 _“The hell? No.”_ There was a sigh and then clatter on the other end of the receiver, Leon moving around and doing something while Chris sat there, looking eviscerated. Piers glanced to the other two captains, wondering what their play was at. This definitely wasn’t helping Chris, as far as Piers could tell. Were they trying to start something? _“I didn’t want to bother you guys and I’m sorry for doing it at all, but I need a favor.”_

“How’re your ribs?”

Piers and Cpt. Valentine and Cpt. Andrews frowned at Chris’s off-topic question, but when soft laughter filtered through the speaker, they were left only more confused. _“Fine, fine— you should see the other guy. Legs for days, but not much else.”_

Chris shut his eyes like he was trying to keep himself under control. “You shouldn’t have gone in alone. They shouldn’t have sent you in like that.”

Wait— was this the guy? The Eastern Slav Republic lone agent? Piers’s eyes went wide, suddenly feeling like he was witnessing something _big._ He hadn’t known Chris was friendly with the guy— or something, at least— but it made sense. Why else would Chris be the one to push for change within the BSAA?

 _“It wasn’t like that,”_ Leon sighed on the phone. _“I was meant to meet an informant, but then I was told to pull out without warning, even though we had evidence of BOWs still on the ground. Good thing I didn’t leave, too, that shit was insane. They were using the Plaga to puppet lickers, can you believe it? I’m still trying to figure out who engineered that level of tech considering Umbrella and that shitty cult are gone. Who else could there be that’s able to afford such expensive and complex breeding? And why would they even want such a risky added factor? The Lickers could only be controlled by a single person, if that one person suddenly turned on the employer, then the whole thing could escalate—”_

“Leon, Jill got me to answer this call on speaker, and you’re doing that thing again where you think out loud and spill all kinds of sensitive information to unauthorized ears.”

Leon paused on the other end at Chris’s words. _“… Ah, fuck. Sorry.”_

“It’s alright,” Chris assured him. “I’m— I’m just glad you’re okay.”

_“Me too.”_

There was a sudden awkward silence, one that had Cpt. Valentine suddenly making passionate gestures with her hands, like she was trying to push Chris to do something. Even Cpt. Andrews looked frustrated, mouthing violently at Chris, both captains obviously desperate for Chris to speak. Chris, though, looked helpless and tired and just shrugged, visibly lost. He shook his head, mouthed that he didn’t know what to do, and then gave a sigh of his own. “That favor, Leon?”

_“Oh, right.”_

There was a rustle of papers and Piers watch Captains Valentine and Andrews throw up their arms in frustration, Andrews even stomping his feet a little like a child. Chris just shook his head. 

_“So— there are rumors of a BOW terrorist attempt on a mall in a classified location, stateside,”_ Leon said as he came back on the line. _“I need BSAA to take care of it.”_

“The fuck?” Cpt. Andrews suddenly blurted out.

 _“John?”_ Leon said from the line. _“Wait, who else is listening? You said I was on speaker?”_

“Hey, Leon,” Cpt. Andrews said sheepishly. “You still sound as pessimistic as ever.”

“I’m here too,” Cpt. Valentine sighed. “Sorry, we just— wanted you to talk to Chris. I’m sure it’s been a while.”

Leon was quiet on the phone for a moment. _“… Seven years is a long time.”_

Captains Valentine and Andrews and Piers visibly balked at this statement. Piers didn’t even know who this guy was to Chris, but it was obvious that seven years was way too long to be apart for people who talked so familiarly. 

“It doesn’t matter,” Chris mumbled suddenly, his eyes far away like he was remembering something awful. “BSAA can’t help you— last I checked foreign boots aren’t allowed to hit the ground stateside.”

 _“They’re allowed when I’ve got permission to request the agency of my choice to handle this,”_ Leon replied matter-of-factly, as if challenging Chris to disagree. _“Adam said he’s leaving it up to my discretion— my discretion said you or Jill. Team of your pick to accompany, no more than four combatants. I would be handling your weaponry and supplies on this end so you don’t have to worry about stowing away any rifles on a civilian flight. Commission prices too, hefty pay considering the work and how much I need you to do this.”_ There was a pause. _“I know I’m asking a lot, Chris, but I promise I won’t be there. Just a quick in and out, make sure everything gets taken care of. There’s a specific date and everything, it will only take a weekend.”_

Chris’s brow knit. “Why won’t you be there?”

 _“I’ve got to handle the people planning this, don’t I? Big group, apparently, big enough to afford shit on the black market. It’s looking like the T-Virus, so at least it won’t be anything new.”_ Leon sounded tired all over again. _"I know I’m asking a lot, but I really need_ someone’s _help. This is all legit, all covered by Adam, all signed and dated so no one can retaliate on you guys, only me. I just can’t be in two fucking places at once and I’m trying to handle DSO semantics on the side.”_

“DSO is a go?” Cpt. Valentine suddenly interrupted, sounding surprised. “Leon, that’s— that’s good news!”

 _“Sure,”_ Leon replied sarcastically. _“As the founding and only acting agent as of right now, everything is falling on me. Yeah, it’s great news.”_ There was another clatter, like something being slammed onto a desk. _“Simmons breathing down my fucking neck and this sudden influx of reports of homegrown terrorism that have apparently been tucked away to create false security in the masses and system, accompanied with previous acting parties reporting theft of sensitive material, and even Congress suddenly second guessing all “my” protective measures in place when I didn’t write a single god damn one of them and bringing me to hearings for shit that isn’t my fault, I’m just having a great time.”_

Jill winced as Chris hung his head in his hands. “Sorry, Leon.”

There was a long and heavy sigh. _“Just one of you help me, please.”_

“When do I leave?” Chris asked softly.

 _“Thank fuck,”_ Leon breathed in audible relief. _“Tonight? The date is the day after tomorrow and I really don’t wanna start my first month as an official DSO agent with a sizable bodycount made up entirely of US citizens.”_

“I’ve got your back, Leon.”

There was another pause again— every time these two paused, Piers felt like something really meaningful was happening. Then, _“I know you do, Chris.”_

“I’m sure you know my load out,” Chris said, all business now. “I’m gonna recommend another agent that isn’t necessarily in my team, but who I will be bringing as a third member. Merah Biji. She’ll be coming from BSAA’s Far East Branch.”

Piers felt a flush rise to his cheeks, knowing exactly who that was. He’d sparred with Merah back at BSAA HQ when she’d been a new frontlines recruit. She was— amazing To Piers’s left, Cpt. Andrews was snickering and making kissing gestures at him. Piers turned away quickly, trying to save face. 

_“Got it, just send me her load out and I’ll make sure she’s taken care of.”_ There was typing on Leon’s end. _“And who’s the third?”_

“Piers Nivans.”

There was a crash like something had been dropped and a curse on the line. _“I-I’m sorry, Nivans? Uh, yeah, Nivans, okay, okay. He want a specific rifle or something? I’m not sure how much long range opportunity he’ll have, since it’s a mall and all, but—”_

“You know he’s long range?” Chris frowned at the phone. “How’d you find that out?”  
Another pause. _“Oh hey, uh, Adam’s ringing me.”_

“Leon, how do you know what Nivans’ speciality is?” 

Cpt. Valentine snickered behind her hand like she knew something they didn’t.

 _“I can’t tell you,”_ Leon said hurriedly. _“STRATCOM classified, you know how it is, I have no legal obligation to tell you.”_

Chris raised a brow, a tiny smile playing at his lips that was unlike any smile Piers had ever seen from him. “Funny— I heard you were furloughed.”

_“I’m hanging up, Sir.”_

Chris’s face fell, the smile becoming almost sad. Even the other two sobered as Chris hung his head a little, nodding like he understood. “Send me the flight details and where to pick up our gear,” he said softly. “I’m— really happy to have heard your voice, Leon.”

There was another one of those heavy pauses. _“Me too, Chris. Be careful out there.”_

“You know me,” Chris murmured. “Just trying to make the world a little safer.”

Leon laughed on the other end, the sound bitter and shockingly raw, like he was hurt. _“I know, Chris. Believe me, I know. Goodbye.”_

“Goodbye."

Chris hung up the phone and sat back, staring at something on the wall— at the H&K. The air in the office was somber in a way Piers hadn’t experienced before. He didn’t know what to say, so he went with something easy. “I’ll pack my bags, Sir?”

Chris’s eyes snapped away from the gun and he nodded, clearing his throat. “Good. I’ll send word to Agent Biji and we’ll be on our way.” He looked to Cpt. Andrews and Cpt. Valentine. “… Thank you for bringing this to my attention.”

“DSO is gonna be international,” Cpt. Andrews said softly. “You don’t have to keep doing this, Chris. Leon—”

“Leon and I made our decision back in Spain,” Chris interjected softly, Piers frowning at the country, knowing it rang some sort of bell. “I’m asking you to respect that. I’m sure you both know as well as I do that there are just some things that don’t end up happy.” He turned back to his desk, shuffling some papers. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to contact Agent Biji and get my team ready to go.”

“Chris,” Cpt. Valentine murmured, her voice thick with some kind of emotion. “Why do you do this to yourself?”

Chris pointedly picked up the phone and dialed a number, likely reaching out to Merah at BSAA’s Far East Branch. Piers took the cue better than the other two, turning and leaving the room. He had more questions than he liked, all of them concerning things that weren’t his work, which pissed him off. Captain Chris Redfield had proven himself to be one of the best men Piers had ever known. He just wished he could provide the man with some sort of comfort, like how Chris made him feel safe even in the most chaotic of fields. 

Piers grit his teeth and nodded to himself as he marched to the arms locker. He didn’t know how, but he was going to help his captain overcome whatever made him sound so defeated when talking to a random man on the phone. He was going to be there for his captain until the end of the line.

. . .

**One year later.**

The screams of the undead echoed in Chris’s head, chaos becoming his place of quiet for the predicability of it all. The only place his mind was at peace was in moments of chaos, probably some sort of maladaptive coping mechanism to allow Chris to continue to function while the world fell apart around him. He never thought as clearly anywhere else as he did when in the midst of a fight, his tumultuous thoughts washing away and being replaced with strategy and order, the learned organization of taking down one monster and immediately moving on to the next, using what was in his hands until it was empty, and then just using his hands. Everything was a weapon until the fight was won.

His fist cracked into the fragile skull of a T-virus infected mutt, the creature yelping as its brain was turned to mush, dropping dead to the ground. Gunfire spattered to his left, but all he could see was his next target, the licker behind him whipping its tongue about. Chris turned to it, clenching and unclenching his hand, staring down the eyeless beast and getting ready to lunge—

_“Captain!”_

Jesus, he forgot.

Chris threw his arm out, catching the cartridge for his TaurusPT909, reloading and slamming the bullets into the head of the licker. Adrenaline ran from him in the form of a gust of breath, his body relaxing as the immediate threat faded from the list of bodies he’d have to put to the ground. Chris glanced over his shoulder and saw his saving grace— Piers Nivans, BSAA’s finest shot and finest driver, one of the best and Chris’s right hand. Chris hadn’t meant to forget he was alone, he just— he forgot. It was how it worked these days. His brain just let go of everything that didn’t translate to the immediate extermination of the viruses and parasites and tunnel-visioned to the fight at hand. Piers didn’t always end up wiped from his mind, but the few times he was, Chris was always left with a bad taste in his mouth. He’d been working with Piers for nearly three years now. He should be used to having a partner.

Piers was good, too— one of the best, one of the better people Chris could have at his side. He remembered the month he’d spent scouting for BSAA recruits, following applications from interested soldiers and anonymously checking them out in PT and minor combat situations. Chris had first met Piers Nivans of the 10th Special Forces group ODA 10223 in Ft. Carson, Colorado, watching the man jump ten feet from the upper level of the communal room onto the tiny, frayed couch below to the cheering of his company men. Piers Nivans was one of the 18Bs, a weapons specialist being trained by the squad’s engineer on the side to hone what little Nivans already new about vehicles. He was good, but on the papers, he wasn’t extraordinary beyond how young he was for how far he’d climbed the ranks.

Chris wouldn’t have actually gone to see Nivans, if he was being honest, not from his application alone. The kid was _too_ young— shouldn’t have even been in SF, to be honest, as enlisting soldiers needed to be twenty to be accepted into the SF program and the kid had been 18 when he’d first gotten in— and his skillset was more towards long range specialties than close combat. If it hadn’t been for the anonymous letter of recommendation that had come across Chris’s desk, a professionally worded review of Nivans’s abilities bearing a legitimate Presidential seal of approval, Chris wouldn’t have looked at Piers Nivans twice. Chris was glad he had, though. After seeing the kid train with the rest of his squad, Chris had known that whoever had recommended Nivans knew exactly how rare of a gem the kid was. It had then become no wonder to Chris how Nivans had gotten into SF at only 18.

Now Chris had the “best” there was, and yet he was forgetting things again. He’d done that a lot back in Africa, before Piers, before he’d had any team and was searching desperately for Jill. Part of him had hoped Jill would be his partner again once he got her back, but she’d been put on immediate rest leave and had come back behind a desk, needing to rehabilitate. Chris could understand that too, he just— 

He missed her. And he missed Sheva. And he missed someone else. All he had was Piers, and even that felt fleeting. The kid was _good_ , and while he seemed loyal, Chris didn’t know how long that would last. Piers Nivans was going places, he was going to end up on the top, Chris knew as much, and Chris also knew that he couldn’t go where Piers was going. So while he was happy to have someone he could trust watching his back, Chris only ever saw a timer ticking down, waiting for when Piers would inevitably leave him too.

Chris was absolutely aware that he needed therapy.

They cleared the building, Piers grinning and wiping his brow as the job well done sunk into his bones. Chris watched him move about from where Chris was sat on a piece of rubble, scanning for any possible injuries that Piers could have suffered and promptly hid. Adrenaline was a hell of a drug and the kid could be completely unaware he was hurt for now. Chris always watched closely— force of habit. 

“That was pretty easy!” Piers said with that wide grin still on his youthful face. “Guess they didn’t really need us on this case, eh, Captain?”

Sometimes Piers Nivans reminded Chris of someone he would rather forget. The bright smile, the positive outlook, the undying desire to do right by the people who needed it. It all sang of a young rookie that was long gone, someone Chris would never see again.

Jesus _fuck_ , he needed therapy.

“Piers,” he began softly. “These biological weapons still create unpredictable situations, even after all this time.” Piers knew that just as well as he did. “We were just lucky that we could contain it like we usually do.”

“You’re too modest, Chris Redfield. This was quite impressive.”

Chris looked up as the female voice echoed through the decimated home he and Piers had ended up in. Merah Biji strode into the room, her steps graceful and quiet, the stealth suit that hugged her lithe frame reflecting the moonlight. Beside him, Chris heard Piers audibly hold his breath, and Chris fought back a rare smile of his own. Piers’s crush was absolutely adorable to him. He was waiting for the kid to ask Merah out already, considering how many times Piers had psyched himself up in the side mirror of a jeep only to lose his courage and settle for childish jokes that still made Merah laugh when no one else would bother.

“Full containment with zero casualties,” Merah said, reaching back to tighten her ponytails one by one. “That’s thanks to your leadership.”

Chris hated compliments— they felt like empty words with how Chris knew he still wasn’t able to do enough no matter how hard he tried. “Thanks, Merah,” he said because it was polite. “You weren’t so bad yourself. No wonder they say you’re the Far East Branch’s top agent.” Which Chris knew. He’d been there for the early stages of her training. He’d known exactly how vital of an agent she would become. 

“Well?” Piers chimed in. “We did it— came in and saved the day, guns a’blazing. How about the three of us grab a bite?”

Dammit, Piers, grow a pair and make it a date already. 

“Sorry, Piers,” Merah said with an apologetic smile. “HQ sent me new orders. I’m supposed to report the incident to professor Wright.”

Piers’s disappointment was quickly replaced by confusion. “Professor Wright?”

Chris was surprised Piers didn’t remember the name— they’d come across Professor Wright just a few years ago in the mall incident stateside, the mission Leon had sent them on. Chris felt a pang in his chest at the memory of the last time he’d heard Leon’s voice, but told himself it was still for the best. Things were changing in the world of BOWs, but they were not improving. Even with DSO going strong and public relations between the anti-BOW agencies strengthening on all sides, there still wasn’t time to waste. Chris’s plan now was to survive to retirement and hope Leon did the same. What was retirement age in the US now? Sixty-five? 

“He’s a professor at Bennett University in Singapore, specializing in bacteriology,” Merah explained to Piers. Chris suddenly wondered if Piers had played dumb just for Merah to talk to him. Sly kid. “He’s an advisor for the Far East Branch. I’m supposed to tell him of our success and also fill him in on the findings.” She tapped the mag light that was above her ear, strapped to her comms unit. “Believe it or not, BSAA actually gave me an upgrade. There’s a camera in here— I’m supposed to give it to him. Share the data and see what he thinks.”

“Does he suspect something is going on with this outbreak or is it just the usual show and tell?” Piers was probably referring to how often they had to send battle analytics to the R&D department of the BSAA and how annoying R&D could be. The lab coats tended to forget that camera stability and clear audio recording wasn’t the first priority of a soldier in combat. The only scientist that wasn’t a pain in the ass for BSAA’s North America Branch was Rebecca Chambers— and she had a bad habit of treating Piers more like a little brother than a combat specialist. Piers didn’t get along with R&D. Chris was sure it was because Piers had failed almost every science course he’d ever taken.

“I’m not sure what HQ thinks is happening at all,” Merah sighed. “But you have to admit it’s odd— an outbreak in the middle of abandoned slums? No hope for casualties and yet there are still infected?”

“Lickers come from people,” Piers said helpfully. “Seems odd they’d say no casualties when we’ve got an entire dead person at our feet— they just don’t look much like a person anymore.”

Merah let out a thoughtful hum. “That report from the Eastern Slav Republic incident implied Lickers were being manufactured, weren’t they?”

Chris’s grip tightened on the muzzle of his Bushmaster ACR. “Yeah.”

“I didn’t get to read the whole thing,” Piers admitted.

“Me neither,” Merah said. “Too high of clearance for me.”

Chris looked away. He’d read the report more times than he could count. Leon’s clinical analysis of worst case scenarios always made Chris sick with anxiety, but knowing Leon had been able to write the report meant he was alive. It wasn’t long after the Eastern Slav Republic incident that Chris had received the phone call from him too. 

“It was a complicated situation,” Chris told them both, of the opinion that they needed to know the dirty details. “The agent involved in the operation reported the same as the acting governments on secure lines— the President of the Eastern Slav Republic had purchased the Plaga dominant parasite on the black market along with Lickers to be deployed as combatants and were given to the elders that led the rebel cause. It was also discovered that three Tyrant units were purchased as well and kept by the President as a line of defense for the Capital. So the lickers we fought here could have very well been purchased from the same unknown seller on the black market and deployed here.”

“Jesus.” Piers gave a low whistle. “Three Tyrants? Wasn’t there only one agent? How’d they survive that?”

By the skin of his teeth— as always.

“U.S. and Russian troops were sent in,” Chris said. “The agent… got lucky.”

“Seems like all the American agents do,” Merah said wryly.

There was really only one agent getting lucky over and over. Chris prayed the day that luck never ran out.

“Makes you wonder,” Piers added. “Why are these BOWs being sent into remote locations? Is someone trying to test something? Maybe they’re trying to measure BSAA response times and figure out how long it takes us to get somewhere and clean house? Or maybe they’re studying BOWs outside of combatant environments? Maybe they’re testing baseline durability and life expectancy?”

“There’s plenty of data already existing concerning that,” Merah pointed out. “Who would need more data of something that’s readily available if you're in the right circuits?”

“Could be someone trying to make a new name in the realm of BOWs,” Piers suggested. “They might not have access to the research.”

“But they have access to the purchasing of Lickers?” Merah looked skeptical. “And why Lickers, of all things? They’re not carriers for the virus, they’re just aggressors. Send five of these into a civilian setting and you’ll have a massacre, but once a squad is deployed of just two trained militants, it’s handled.”

“Even less,” Chris added. “I’ve seen one man take on three and walk away. All you need is the knowledge of how they function and light steps.”

“Ah, yes,” Piers snorted. “Captain’s unknown super agent.”

“Super agent?” Merah grinned a little between them, raising a brow. “Anyone I could know?”

“Definitely not— it’s just this mystery agent that Chris talks about without telling me his name,” Piers sighed before Chris could get a word in. “Some wunderkind guy that can apparently take down anything completely on his own.”

Merah looked intrigued. “Like what?”

“Like a Gigante, for one,” Piers began carefully, pursing his lips. Chris was a little amazed to know Piers had filed all of this away. “This guy apparently took on Tyrants all by himself and won, he took on hoards of Plaga infected people, he’s taken on several Lickers without breaking a sweat, and he’s taken down several G-Virus final stage infected as well.” Piers shook his head. “Sounds like a fairytale, if you ask me, especially since he won’t give me any incident reports to back the fairytales up.”

“It’s not a fairytale,” Chris said firmly. “He’s a good man. Good soldier.”

“A good soldier you won’t name.”

Chris looked away. “It’s classified. But that doesn’t mean it’s all a lie.”

“I guess,” Piers huffed, shaking his head at Merah like they were in on a joke Chris wasn’t privy too. “I’ve heard Captain Valentine mention some weird stories too, so I guess he _could_ be telling the truth. And Captain Andrews. Director Trapp as well.”

“That’s a lot of people all attesting to the existence of this mystery agent,” Merah hummed, her eyes twinkling as she played along with Piers. 

“Yeah, but you know how these old agents are,” Piers drawled, grinning sharply as he bantered with the woman he had a crush on. “They’ve all got their white whales, their Moby Dicks. Whose to say if that whale ever breached the surface or if it’s just a dehydrated fever dream?”

“Could be Dementia,” Merah suggested.

“Could be all the head injuries,” Piers added.

“Could be you kids thinking you’re hot shit when you were barely able to go to school without shitting your pants when the first BOW outbreak happened.” Chris stood, having enough their childish flirting. He didn’t mind teasing at anyone’s expense unless it was Leon. He turned to Merah, getting things back on track. “Professor Wright, eh? I’m coming with you, Merah. He helped me out a few years ago. I’d like to say hello.”

Merah sheepishly ducked her head and nodded. “I’ll let HQ know— they’re sending me a Gambit. We’ll get a leg up.”

“Good,” Chris said, glancing to Piers, who was sobering up and packing up. Chris was glad to have a mission in sight so soon after completing this one. “Situation is under control, but you never know what these viruses are capable of— let’s keep moving.”

. . .

Piers looked around Bennett University and let himself feel a little nostalgic for something he’d never really experienced before. 

Growing up, he’d watched countless movies featuring the raucous university students figuring out life and sex and grades. His personal favorite was one his father and Piers had watched every year for his father’s birthday— Revenge of the Nerds. A great movie with a very inaccurate representation of university life and social norms. His father had always talked about Piers going to college, as if military BDUs weren’t ingrained in Piers’s DNA. Maybe Piers would get into an academy for four years just to get some language specialization beyond his SF-mandated Polish, but he never intended to go to the officer level of bureaucracy. Piers was going to have his boots on the ground his full twenty plus, even if it killed him. 

That being said, some part of Piers wished he could have experienced university life and all the awkward realizations and explorations that came with it. Piers’s first kiss had been in high school, same with losing his virginity, as there was really nothing else for a Kansas boy to do, but he wouldn’t have minded figuring some other shit out in university. Maybe if he’d been a student for longer than the mandated twelve, he’d have a boyfriend under the belt too. Wouldn’t that be something? Nowadays, Piers didn’t have the time or the patience for a relationship outside of the BSAA, let alone gambling with his sexuality. It didn’t help that the past three years had gotten Piers quite a few people teasing him over a crush on Chris— they couldn’t be more wrong. If Piers had a crush on any man, it would be the unknown soldier from Harvardville Airport.

“So this is where Professor Bennett teaches,” Chris said, breaking Piers from his thoughts. Piers looked back at his captain, silently checking him over, knowing Chris’s ticks and tells better than the back of his hand at this point. Chris was dressed down in a BSAA issued flannel that was meant to look more civilian than military, but it hadn’t helped their cover to arrive in a Gambit. At least Chris was in something other than a uniform. Piers preferred seeing his captain let go a little and remember he was human.

“Correct,” Merah hummed, her voice lilting through the hallway and helping Piers feel a little more human too. He was pretty elated to be following Merah around. While he was sure Chris wanted to see Professor Bennett, he liked to think that maybe Chris was also just being a hell of a wingman.”Of course, Professor Bennett does more than teach. Along with being a consultant for us, he acts as a consultant for many other agencies as well. Everyone wants to be able to stand up to these BOWs. Apparently people think he’s the man to help them do it.”

“His research in biological warfare is unparalleled,” Chris added thoughtfully as Merah led them into an office. She stopped in her tracks when she saw the office was empty, then turned around, frowning. Chris matched the frown. “What’s wrong?”

“He should be here,” she said softly, looking around. “I— I know where else to check.” She left the office just as quickly as she’d come in, marching down the hall. “The scheduler for his department will know where he is, I’m sure of it.”

Chris looked skeptical— not that he had a reason to be, he was just always skeptical. Chris glanced back to Piers, giving him a sharp nod that Piers knew well. It meant to break off from the group and find out what he could.

Piers gave Chris a small salute and slowed his steps, falling behind carefully as Merah and Chris went ahead. He doubled back to the office, knowing that there had to be something in here that could tell him where the professor had gone. The man was a civilian, and civilians left paper trails. Piers went to the desk first, rifling through it carefully, keeping his eyes pealed for opened envelopes and receipts. He knew the desktop computer would have a password that he didn’t have the patience to figure out— not to mention the legal right— so this would do for now. 

Unfortunately, either the professor was paranoid as fuck, or he was just a super organized man who wasted no space for sake of efficiency. Piers found nothing in the office, not even a pocket calendar, nothing that could give him any sort of clues. Piers sighed, feeling like shit knowing he was going to have to return to Chris empty-handed. He hated letting his captain down. Piers gave the office one last sweep of his gaze, but it was useless. Piers sighed again and opened the door.

Immediately, two girls girls that were so small and thin that they were almost elfin jumped back from the door, guilt written plainly across their expressions. Piers raised a brow at them, able to tell that they’d been spying on him with just a glance. He wondered why.

Piers took a step back, tucked his hands in his front pockets to seem disarming, and gave them a boyish grin that made his grandma back in Kansas swoon. “Can I help you?”

One of them quickly recovered from being caught and stood up straight, taking a protective step in front of her friend. “Is Ricky in trouble?”

Piers pursed his lip, desperately trying to remember who the fuck Ricky— oh shit, the nephew of Professor Bennett. “That depends,” he replied, giving a shrug. “Do you think he should be?”

The girl huffed, then crossed her arms over her chest and glared at him. “You know where they went, right? That crazy school up in the middle of the jungle— Marhawa Academy. Where all of the rich politician kids go to get groomed for the cult that controls the world?”

Piers blinked slowly at her words. “… You mean like lizard people?”

The second girl— still hiding behind her friend— mumbled something in Malay. The first girl looked confused, then a little shocked. She stared at Piers with some newfound emotion, either respect or fear, Piers could never tell. Piers realized something was happening here out of his control and his current leash. “Look, I gotta get back to my people,” He said, hoping she would keep answering his questions if she thought he was just some sheepish American. “Are you sure Ricky said he was going to Marhawa Academy? With Professor Bennett?”

“Positive,” the first girl said, still stunned. “ He was bragging about it before they left, talking up Marhawa Academy and how special and exclusive it is for politicians and millionaires… Is Ricky alright?”

“Everything’s fine,” Piers assured her gently. “Just need to talk to the professor about some work related stuff, there’s nothing to worry about.” He gave them a polite dip of his head, breaking away and heading down the hall for where Chris and Merah had gone. “Thank you for your help— be safe out there!” An odd parting sentiment, but Piers meant it. The world was crazy these days. He needed to catch up with Chris

Piers tried a couple doors with no luck, then grinned wide when he got lucky and saw Merah and Chris conversing with some dude in a sharp suit. “Captain!” he called out, unable to keep down his excitement. “I know where the professor went! Turns out Wright’s nephew Ricky has a big mouth.”

Chris gave him the tiniest of smiles and Piers felt like he was fucking flying. He loved getting shit right for his captain. 

“Tell us over lunch,” Merah said, grinning at him and taking him by the arm as she walked past. “I’ve heard this place has an amazing food court with the best local dishes and I’m _starving._ ” Piers was swept away, only having a split second to glance back apologetically at Chris as Merah dragged him to this legendary food court.

The area was huge, which Piers didn’t like very much. There weren’t many people, but a high ceiling and blind corners always made Piers uncomfortable, and he knew it messed with Chris too. Merah beelined for a stall that had some sort of hot-pot-dish-thing, so Piers just grabbed a quick salad and waited for the others. He glanced back to Merah, standing close enough to hear her getting a pronunciation lesson on her dish. Piers shook his head, smiling at her antics. “Merah, you focus more on food than you do combat.”

“Piers,” Chris called out. “Tell me what you found.”

“Oh, right, right.” Piers really needed to just ask Merah out already. He turned to his captain. “It seems the professor’s nephew talked to his friends. They’re going to Marhawa Academy.”

Merah came over with her tray and cheerfully led them to a table, her eyes sparkling every time she looked down at her plate. Piers and Chris sat across from her. “Professor Wright got called in by some big shot at the academy. He thought he might need help so he took Ricky with him in exchange for course credits.”

Merah looked a little concerned. “He went into a hot zone… for credits?!”

Piers glanced down at her food— it was the size of her head. “You gonna eat all that?”

Merah ignored him and snapped her chopsticks apart. “Marhawa Academy is world famous as the best private school in Asia,” she explained. “Professor Bennett being called there has to be a pretty big deal.”

Chris looked thoughtful. “We should contact the academy.”

“That could be difficult,” Merah warned. “It’s a boarding school in a remote area with limited lines of communication from the outside.” Piers made a face, wondering if that was why the girls he’d spoken to and called the whole thing a cult.

Chris looked bewildered. “They must have a phone or— something?”

Merah shook her head.

Definitely a cult.

Chris sighed, sitting back. “Something doesn’t add up.”

“Oh wow!”

Piers and Chris both looked to Merah, who had taken her first bite of her dish and was gushing over it like a child at Christmas. Piers’s heart skipped a beat at the smile on her face and watched for a moment, wondering if she would be this excited for his mom’s cooking. 

Chris shifted in his seat, the man’s expression still stony. Piers grimaced, realizing he needed to keep his thoughts on track. “You think we should go?” he asked Chris softly, watching the other man carefully. “I’m with you all the way, Captain.” Chris’s expression softened at the statement of loyalty, something that often happened whenever Piers reminded Chris that he wasn’t leaving his side any time soon. 

“Me too, of course,” Merah added after chewing her first bite. “My job is to report my findings to Professor Wright, after all.”

“H-hey, pardon me, but are you folks going to Marhawa?”

Piers looked up in unison with Chris and Merah to see one of the cooks coming towards them, flustered. He was an older man with round cheeks, wearing the starch white uniform all the other cooks wore. Merah hesitated, giving an offhanded, “Maybe…”

“Why?” Chris asked firmly, staring the cook down. 

“I-I’m a cook here. My name’s Yoshihara. And I was wondering if you could help me check on my daughter.” He pulled out a photo that Piers studied carefully. It was a young girl, probably no older than seventeen, with a bright smile and pigtails, her head cocked to the side. “She’s a student at Marhawa and she hasn’t written home for several months. It’s very unlike her. Her name is Nanan. Nanan Yoshihara.”

Chris stared at the photo for a second longer, likely coming to the same conclusion as Piers— everything was lining up, but not adding up. Something had gone wrong at Marhawa Academy and they needed to be ready for whatever it was. Chris gave the picture one last moment of his attention and then nodded. “I’m Chris Redfield of the BSAA,” he told the cook, standing and offering his hand to shake, which the other man did with wide eyes. “We’ll find out what happened to your daughter. I promise.”

A swell of pride ran through Piers at Chris’s words because he knew that Chris was the best of the best and always made good on his word. Piers traded a resolute glance with Merah. They were going to find Professor Bennett— and Nanan Yoshihara.

. . .

Chris knew he wasn’t supposed to operate in terms of impossible scenarios and lost causes. Everything he did had to come with a plan, a way to win, an ultimate goal that he was required to be willing to die for to achieve. He wasn’t allowed to think in negatives and failure and loss— when the world was at stake, there was no failure. 

That being said, Chris knew Marhawa Academy was a hopeless cause.

It was overrun— completely overrun. Overrun to an extreme he hadn’t seen since Raccoon City. Chris had fought through countless waves of monsters, but none of the new breeds measured up to the sheer terror the T-virus instilled in Chris. It’s ability to spread faster than he could blink, how it turned friends to foes, how it ended lives so bloody. Chris hated BOWs, but he _hated_ the T-Virus. It was where his hell had begun— and where he knew it would one day end.

But not here.

Chris mowed down zombies that had once been students, not allowing himself to look at their faces for his own sanity. He’d heard voices down the hall, human voices, and he was desperate to find a survivor before the chaos of this place ate him alive. It was one thing for Chris to be sent into an area and regain control— it was another for him to arrive too late and see the evidence of his colossal failure, all of the lives he’d failed to save. All Chris was seeing now was his uselessness. He needed to help someone. He needed to _save_ someone. He needed to make the world a little safer for someone— _anyone._ If he didn’t, then everything he’d sacrificed would be—

Chris rounded a corner and pulled the trigger before he even understood what he was seeing. He thanked his instincts as his bullets tore into a zombie that was towering over a person— _a person_ — a kid, young and uninfected, holding his own gun to his head. Chris knew what that was like— reaching the end of the rope and being unable to reach any further. He was just glad he’d made it in time. He was glad to be useful.

The kid looked up at Chris with wide, tearful eyes, the last shreds of panic dying away into fragile hope. Chris pressed a finger to his comms and spoke to his team. “This is Chris— Piers, Merah, gimme a sit-rep.”

There was static on the line before a familiar voice flooded Chris’s awareness as he stalked towards the downed kid, Chris beginning to recognize him. _“This is Piers,”_ came the voice through the mic. _“The academy’s under pandemic conditions. No survivors location yet.”_ There was a pause as Chris stood in front of the kid. _“Jesus— this is way worse than I expected!”_

 _“This is Merah,”_ came the other agent’s voice. _“Haven’t located any survivors either. How’re things over there, Chris?”_

It felt good to be the bearer of good news for once. “I’ve got one survivor,” he said as he stooped over and offered the kid a hand. “Ricky Tozawa.” As his men let out exclamations of surprise and relief over the comms, Chris gave Ricky a moment to accept the fact that he wasn’t going to die yet. “Can you stand?” he asked softly, keeping his hand offered. Ricky— Professor Bennett’s nephew— stared at Chris with shell-shocked eyes. Chris knew well what the kid had seen up until this point. “We gotta move.”

Ricky shook himself, quickly wiping the tears from his eyes on his denim jacket. “Wh-who’re you?” he demanded, voice cracking at the edge. He was paranoid— Chris couldn’t blame him.

“I’m Captain Redfield,” he said with authority as he helped pull Ricky to his feet once the kid realized Chris wasn’t about to shoot him down or leave him for dead. “Chris Redfield of the BSAA.”

Ricky’s eyes went huge— he looked so young that Chris felt sick. “W-wait— BSAA?!” Chris watched a grin form over the kid’s lips and felt a little of his own despair sink in. “The BSAA is here? Thank god!”

Chris grimaced. “I don’t mean to let you down, but we just came here to find Professor Wright. There are only three of us and we’re not fully equipped.” He paused to let Ricky come to terms with what that meant. “The situation isn’t that much better.”

The desperation was like lightning in Ricky’s voice. “Seriously?”

“Can it,” Chris ordered gruffly, reaching into his tactical vest for some spare equipment. “There’s no reason to give up hope yet.” Maybe Chris and his small team wasn’t good enough, but he knew that it was better than nothing. They could still try to do some good. “Here’s a radio. It’ll connect you with the rest of the team. Tell us what happened here.”

Ricky nodded, saving face and turning away as he slipped the earpiece in. “It’s a student,” he said, talking a little too loudly into the radio as most people did when unaccustomed to the tech. “And the head mistress, but she’s gone. Bindi Bergara and Nanan Yoshihara—” Chris flinched at the second, familiar name. “— tried to escape because Nanan was being bullied brutally. When they were running away, there was an accident. Nanan Yoshihara was killed and the head mistress covered it up. Now Bindi Bergara has been releasing some strain of the virus— Uncle Doug said it was the T-virus at first, but later he wasn’t so sure— into the student population. She shot herself full of something too after causing a full outbreak and she’s huge now. Nanan is alive also, somehow, infected. She’s got holes in her body that lets out a gas of the virus.” 

Ricky hesitated. “… I mean, I think that’s what’s happening. My uncle was the real brains behind figuring this all out, but he got hurt. He said that this could be something dangerous, something we’ve never seen before. He’s in the medical ward and can’t defend himself, I have to get to him.”

 _“Bio-terrorism by a student?”_ Merah repeated almost shrilly. 

_“What the hell!”_ Piers shouted. _“How did a student get her hands on—”_

“I’m sorry,” Ricky interrupted, sounding genuine. “That’s really all I know.” 

Ricky then looked to Chris, either for courage or guidance, both of which Chris was eager to supply. He pressed into comms to give out orders. “That’s enough,” he told Ricky softly. “Thanks. Piers, Merah— let’s move.”

_“What’re your orders, Captain?”_

_“We’re with you, Chris.”_

“We’re not equipped to contain an outbreak of this size. We’ll radio the Far East Branch and wait for backup. Avoid unnecessary engagements.” He paused, centering himself, needing to think. “… Piers, I need you to evacuate.”

_“What?! Sir—”_

“Temporarily,” Chris stressed. “There are no working lines on campus. Head for the city and keep using the vehicle radio to contact HQ. Once you’ve confirmed that reinforcements are en route, get back to the academy and cover our asses.”

_“Roger that.”_

Oh thank god, he wasn’t arguing. “Merah, I need you to find Bindi Bergara,” he ordered next. “She’s one of the perpetrators. If this is a new strain as Professor Wright suspected, then we have a ton of questions to ask her. Do not let her escape.”

_“Copy that.”_

Chris turned and kicked in a door without breaking a sweat, hearing Ricky let out a noise shock as the door was flung across the room by the strength of the kick, knocking zombies off their feet. “I’m off to rescue the professor,” he told his team. “Ricky, I want you—”

“No way!” Ricky interrupted, lifting his gun— what looked like a simple SIG-Sauer, easy enough to handle, thank god the kid wasn’t shooting his hand off and practicing good trigger safety— and slamming a bullet between the eyes of the closest undead. “I promised Uncle Doug that I’d end this!”

Chris glanced back to the kid, wondering what he’d see and being surprised by what he found. Ricky was staring down these monsters with the same grim determination Chris had seen on countless war-torn soldiers. In this world of BOWs, there came a time in a person’s life where they had to choose between two moral paths— they would betray one part of their self for the survival of the other. Ricky had made that choice. He was going to save his family no matter what it took. 

Chris gave the kid a grim smile. “Alright.” He switched the safety off his ACR and faced down the sights at the next zombie to make the mistake of stumbling towards them. “Stay close, Ricky!”

“R-roger that!”

Chris dove into the chaos, having a general idea of where the professor would be. As dark blood sprayed from the bodies he put down, he navigated the halls with clinical efficiency. Chris officially had a civilian on his flank and he needed to ensure the kid made it to his uncle and out of this damned academy. As far as Chris could tell, there was no saving this place. He knew they wouldn’t find any more survivors in this hell— Chris was lucky to have reached Ricky in time, and that was where their luck was going to run out.

“It’s bad, isn’t it?” Ricky panted, having to jog to keep up with Chris’s quick, thundering pace. Chris slowed for a moment, glancing back to see Ricky was making the fatal error of looking outside. Chris paused to do the same.

It was bad. It was very, very bad.

The dead milled about on the ground below them, Chris and Ricky on the second story and being treated to the perfect view of the end of the immediate world. The grass was stained red with blood and the undead moaned loudly, their voices grating Chris’s ears. The world itself was dark and the academy, once beautiful and architecturally magnificent, was in shambles. Broken glass littered the ground alongside limbs and flowers were torn from the soil. There were fires in small spurts in the buildings across the main courtyard, embers of dying light. For the second time in his life, Chris had arrived too late to be of real use to anyone but a single young man.

“It’s bad,” he told Ricky, knowing he couldn’t sugarcoat the situation. “And it’s only going to get worse. We need to keep moving.”

“Is it always like this?”

The kid sounded like he would go into shock if Chris didn’t keep him in the present. He took Ricky by the shoulder and pulled the kid along, getting him into gear. “It’s always like this,” he echoed, unable to keep the strain from his voice. “I’ve seen it before and I’ll see it again. This shit spreads faster than we can contain if we’re not smart. And when bad people want it to run rampant, we become helpless.” Chris faced forward, his steps heavy. “It won’t stop us from fighting— but we only keep fighting if we survive. So run.”

Ricky finally got with the program. He nodded and didn’t falter from then on, keeping up with Chris effortlessly if only for the adrenaline. Chris brought them to the medical ward, relieved it was within the same area and that they hadn’t had to go outside into the real mess. He brought down a solitary zombie, hoping it was a good sign that there wasn’t much of a gathering of the undead in this area. Chris pushed open the door to the medical officer and glanced around hurriedly, noting furniture overturned and supplies tossed around. His instincts told him something big had been through here, but he ignored it, glancing to the small map of the medical bay rooms and finding the one that was occupied.

“Room two-thirteen,” Chris said, nodding to himself, then Ricky as he jogged for the door. “C’mon— we need to get your uncle and get back to my team so we can get you two—”

Chris halted in his tracks when he saw the door was open, bringing up his gun without hesitation and aiming his sights down front as he pushed into the room and—

Oh god—

Professor Bennett was infected.

Chris stopped, realizing that things were about to get a hell of a lot worse. Behind him, Ricky let out this awful noise that had Chris’s guts turning over, a man losing something precious and being forced to watch it desecrated. Chris took a step back as Professor Bennett’s corpse advanced, shambling towards them, arms outstretched, no longer the man he’d once been. Ricky was screaming, grieving wildly into the bloodstained room, the raw scream echoing in Chris’s head, and yet all Chris could suddenly think about was how Professor Bennett didn’t have any bite marks on his body.

“This is Chris,” he said, pressing into comms, staring at the unmarred, stumbling corpse and wondering what the actual fuck was happening in this university. “We found the professor— he’s turned.”

 _”Uncle Doug!”_ Ricky wailed beside him, staggering towards the zombie that would tear into Ricky’s throat if given the chance. Chris cursed softly and yanked Ricky back and away, knocking the professor over easily and pinning him beneath his boot.

“Merah!” he shouted into comms. “This is your branch— it’s your call!” Professor Bennett thrashed underneath Chris, who tried his best to keep the flailing limbs under control and away from him and Ricky. The professor snapped rotting jaws and yowled like a banshee while Ricky screamed on, the horror too much. Chris shoved the muzzle of his gun into the wet skull of the professor. “Merah! Now!”

There was a shaky sigh into his ear. _“Do it.”_

“Wait!”

Chris’s finger barely stayed from squeezing the trigger, his heart rate spiking for a moment as he feared what would come if Ricky begged him not to put down the infected man and just— let him devour them. 

Chris had seen that before too. Loved ones unable to let go and realize that the person they had lost was well and truly gone despite the mangled face that stared them down. He’d seen civilians willfully fall to the teeth of their family and Chris could only hope they were finally at peace. But letting Ricky do that to himself wasn’t an option and Chris didn’t know if he was going to be able to—

Ricky took a step forward, tears streaming down his boyish features as he held his Sauer up and to his uncle’s head. “Let me.”

Chris stared up at the kid, wondering why he kept mistaking young faces for immature. Leon, Steve, Piers, now Ricky. When would Chris stop forgetting how quickly trauma aged a person?

Chris nodded and leaned back, keeping Professor Bennett down, but giving Ricky plenty of space. “Do what you gotta do.”

Ricky bit back a sob as he pulled rested his finger on the trigger. “Uncle Doug,” he choked out. “I’m sorry.”

Ricky emptied his clip into the skull of the only family he had left and Chris could only sit back and swallow this new reason to hate these viruses and the people that played with lives like they were toys.

. . .

Piers had seen a lot of ugly shit in his time with the BSAA, but nothing like what Bindi Bergara had become.

Eight legs, a thorax the size of a fucking minivan, pincers and an amalgamation of mutated faces on her front that would haunt Piers for the rest of his life. An unearthly shriek and the ability to run something like fifty miles a fucking hour. Sprinting across the campus and avoiding the undead was suddenly the easiest part of Piers’s day— never mind crashing his Gambit through a fucking church, he would put that at the top of his list as easy-breezy— running away from this fucking nightmare of a BOW was going to be the thing that took the cake for him.

“The helicopter! There’s the helicopter, yes!”

Piers let his air rush from his lungs with relief as their small group— just Chris, Merah, Piers, and Ricky— clambered into the underground hangar, the monstrous Bindi slamming into the metal door that swung down to defend them like it was paper. Piers watched the door dent worse by the second and sprinted for the controls. 

“Good,” Chris said from the helicopter itself, the craft of military model but outdated. “It’s operational.”

“How do we get it outside?” the professor’s nephew, Ricky asked of Piers while Piers looked over the control panel that was to the left of the helicopter itself and tried to figure it out.

“With this, I think,” he fumbled to say as he pushed at buttons and searched for something like a lift and a hatch. They were _underground_ , even a miracle pilot like Chris wouldn’t be able to fly them straight up and out with manual controls. Piers needed to find a way _up_ , they needed the fuck out of this place before—

The door shrieked and crumbled, Bindi almost inside.

“Uh, you wanna hurry it up?!” Ricky demanded shrilly.

“Working as fast as I can!” Piers scowled and scrolled down through a controls list, pissed that everything was riding on his shoulders when he didn’t even speak the maiden language of this place. He froze when he saw the screen suddenly flash the words “carry lift open” in English just above a dial. “Yes!” He turned the dial hard and let himself grin in triumph as machinery whirred to life around them. He looked up and fought the urge to throw his fist into the air as the ceiling high, high above slowly crawled open, moonlight spilling into the depths of the underground. The lift itself whirred noisily and Piers grinned at the sight of the helicopter beginning to lift into the air, taking Chris, Merah, and Ricky with it.

_”Piers!”_

Shit, wait, Piers wasn’t on there.

Piers darted forward just as the door gave way and Bindi ripped into the hangar. Piers leaped up onto the platform, gladly taking Merah’s and Ricky’s offered hands, giving an exaggerated sigh of relief as they steadily rose out of Bindi’s reach. “That couldn’t have been closer!”

There was a deafening roar and the lift suddenly jerked dangerously beneath their feet. Piers looked over his shoulder and felt sick as he saw the pincers of Bindi latch onto the side of the life, the monster’s hulking frame raising into few in moments. “Captain!” Piers shouted wildly as he heard Chris get out of the helicopter. He couldn’t keep the panic from his voice— he hated when things got this big.

There was a solid hand on his shoulder, and Piers instantly felt safe. The lift reached the surface, the world instantly filled with the screams of the undead, the cool night air whipping at Piers’s face like knives. “Okay, team,” Chris said from behind him, his voice steady and firm and acting as a tether for Piers’s sanity. “Prepare to engage!”

The four of them stood in a line, Piers hyperaware of his teammates and the civilian who wasn’t prepared for any of this— like they were any better off. Bindi’s monstrous form stalked them in a slow crawl, hissing between mandibles. Piers noticed for a split second that another face was on the quivering mass— a young girl with an eye missing, her strawberry hair tangled around her expressionless face with tendrils coming from her neck, bulbous welts with swollen openings protruding like suckers on a tentacle. Surrounding them, held back only barely by the wire fence, the infected students tore through each other to reach inside and try to attain their next meal, snarling for blood. Piers was momentarily staggered by the knowledge of what had happened here to these kids and how not a single one of them really deserved any of this.

“If we don’t hurry, the infected will swarm us,” Merah warned beside him.

Piers swallowed hard and nodded, wishing he had something a little more close range than his rifle right now. He’d given Merah the last of his ammo for the handgun— he was just gonna have to do his best. “Let’s make this quick then.”

Down the line, Ricky let out a shuddering breath as inhuman clicks tumbled from Bindi’s ruined mouth while she stalked them. “It ends here.”

Bindi launched forward at Ricky’s words, leaping into the air like she was made of nothing despite her hulking frame. “Damn, she’s fast!”

“Spread out!” Chris shouted, falling back and pushing Ricky away to do the same. Bindi landed hard just behind Piers and Merah, both of them dropping away clumsily, Piers grunting a little as he landed hard on a knee. He whirled around a fired a quick shot 12.7mm round right into the meat of Bindi’s thorax, trying to figure out the weak point. Was it the abdomen? The head? Was it beneath everything, in the heart? _Was there any weakness at all?_

Bindi darted away again, Piers losing sight of the thing in a way that should be impossible with her sheer size. He turned sharply on his heel, desperate for a visual, and saw Chris across the field, who was shouting something at him, barely audible over the roar of the horde surrounding them, waving a hand in the air as—

The wind was suddenly forced from Piers’s lungs as something _hard_ collided with his body, along his spine, sending him flying through the air. He heard Chris shout his name, but couldn’t hear anything else past the ringing in his ears. Weightless for only a second more, and then Piers hit the dirt, crying out as he crumbled to the ground and rolled, momentarily stunned. His mouth tasted like iron and all he could hear was echoing gunshots and screams. His head _hurt_. He could barely drag in a breath, his torso tight and throbbing and painful. For a moment, he was scared he couldn’t move. His legs were dumb weight on the ground and his arms were shaking too much for him to be able to sit up. Piers was scared he’d broken something.

Then the adrenaline crashed back into him. He heaved in air, choking on it, the world suddenly swimming back into surround sound and terror. Piers lifted his head and saw the struggle of his team, Merah slicing through one of Bindi’s legs to save Chris. Piers spat blood onto the dirt from where he’d bit his tongue and kicked his tingling legs, getting into a better position to bring his rifle forward and actually use it the way god intended. He watched Bindi make a leap for the helicopter— jesus, a display of genuine intelligence, a smart monster was a _dangerous_ monster— and fired his shot with his breath held tight in his lungs. Bindi was flung back by the round, their ticket out of here saved, that shred of a girl on Bindi’s back falling away and bouncing across the grass. Piers struggled back to his feet and only barely caught the end of the most inexplicable look Merah had ever given him. 

“Group up!” Chris ordered, watching Piers stand with visible relief. “We’re not underestimating her again.”

Piers staggered to the rest of his team, checking them over with quick glances. Everyone was alive and in one piece— including himself.

They lined up again, facing down Bindi, who was scrambling to her feet, still struggling to recover from the shot that had torn through her left shoulders. “This time we won’t miss,” Merah said firmly as they raised their weapons on Chris’s signal and filled Bindi with lead.

It felt— unfair. Four guns shredding the monster that had once been a young girl, blood spraying, some sort of poisonous gas bursting from the body, and that awful shriek piercing Piers’s ears. Every squeeze of his finger on the trigger drove the guilt deeper and deeper, Piers knowing he was just taking out a victim when the real problem— whoever had done this, whoever had given Bindi these viruses— was out there, alive and well. This was— this bloodshed was pointless. They weren’t saving anyone.

As Piers’s clip ran empty, Bindi Bergara finally went silent.

Piers took a step back, surveying the damage to the body, the once white gas now an awful black, like smoke rising from the shambles of a burning building. There was the faint sound of bone and flesh settling, the body shifting in death. Piers took in and let out a shaky breath, some part of himself insisting that this wasn’t over despite the corpse in front of him.

Then there was the awful piercing sound of metal giving way— the fence surrounding them finally collapsed beneath the hordes of the undead. _“Shit!”_

“Everyone, get in!” Chris roared, running for the helicopter and grabbing Piers by the shoulder to make sure he followed the order. “I’ll pilot!”

Piers took a stand just outside the passenger bay of the helicopter, covering Merah and Ricky as they ran inside. “Has he flown one of these before?!” Ricky asked Piers shrilly.

“He came in through the Air Force, now fucking move!”

The undead horde was closing in fast, Piers firing uselessly into the throngs of the infected. As Merah and Ricky got inside and the rotors began to reach the full spin, Piers turned back to the copter. The craft lifted into the air, Piers getting a foot on one of the landing skids and taking an offered hand— Merah’s hand. 

As Merah brought him into the craft and the warm sensation of escaping an apocalypse rushed through him, Piers fought down a stupid grin and reminded himself that he’d asked Merah on a date and _she’d said yes._ Piers had so many things he wanted to do with her, so many places to show her. That amazing bar near BSAA North America HQ, the hidden quarry back in Lawrence, his favorite place to hike in Alaska— so much, there was just so much, and he was gonna get the chance.

Merah smiled at him and Piers smiled back, their hands still clasped together, the helicopter surging into the air, away from the hell beneath their feet and towards the encroaching dawn. Piers knew this wasn’t perfect, but it was ideal— getting away alive and getting a chance. 

Then Merah’s eyes went wide with fear and Piers was suddenly flung across the passenger bay by Merah, his back hitting the other end of the craft, giving him the perfect view of Merah being skewered on three thick tentacles. 

Blood burst from between her lips that had once been curved in a gorgeous smile. Piers felt like his world was collapsing.

He distantly heard Chris shouting Merah’s name, but couldn’t think past the tendrils piercing her chest. Piers fell forward, catching her collapsing body, yanking the flesh from her body and fighting back nausea at the holes he knew she wouldn’t recover from. “Oh god, Merah,” he whispered, just holding her in his arms. “Hang in there— please, hang in there.”

Merah coughed weakly, blood torrenting from her mouth. This was wrong. Everything— this was all wrong.

The helicopter suddenly swayed, Chris cursing sharply from the cockpit. As Ricky looked over the ledge of the passenger bay, fury swept through Piers. He knew the tendrils, he knew what had done this, _who_ had done this, he _knew._ Piers suddenly clambered to his feet, laying Merah down to pick up his rifle instead and reload it, aiming his sights over the ledge at the strawberry hair girl that had clung to Bindi like a parasite. “Let go you bitch!” he shouted before firing the last of his ammo into her ugly face. The monster didn’t flinch, didn’t even change expression, that young face void of it all. Her hold on the craft didn’t give and she yanked, pulling the craft down towards the reaching hands of the infected. Piers saw she was holding onto the helicopter lift and the landing skids, keeping them tethered like a boat to a dock in a hurricane. Piers’s gun couldn’t do shit— they were gonna be flung back into the stretching arms of the zombies below.

“Piers!”

He looked up to Ricky’s stricken, pale face and a giant case held in the kid’s hands. Piers knew exactly what it was and sent a silent thanks to whoever the fuck was listening before grabbing the case and mounting the Browning M2 on the floor. Rage made his movements hurried and fumbling, his only saving grace being Ricky, who took his barked orders and held the straps tight to keep the gun steady. The sick satisfaction Piers felt when bringing the high caliber sights down onto the empty face of the infected girl would be one of his darkest memories of himself. She wasn’t responsible for this virus— but she was responsible for what had become of Merah.

Piers screamed wordlessly as he fired, watching the bullets rip through her like a knife. It was over in seconds and it wasn’t enough— one moment the infected girl was condemning them, and the next the helicopter was rising again, the infected girl in pieces and falling into the horde below, just like Merah was dying on the ground behind Piers.

Merah was dying.

Piers yanked himself away from the gun, not even caring how dangerous it was to leave such a heavy weapon mounted and unmanned. He lifted Merah into the passenger seat, laying her across delicately and flinching at the wounded noise she made despite his best efforts, her blood splattering across his sniper veil. She opened her endless brown eyes and looked to the cockpit, wheezing out her final words. “Chris— please— a world… with no more outbreaks.”

“I understand, Merah.” Piers looked to his captain at those words, but he couldn’t see the man’s face. He wondered if Chris was refusing to look back because he needed to fly, or because he needed to hide. “I’m on the job!” Hiding wasn’t enough— Piers could hear the pain in his captain’s voice. He knew neither of them were going to walk away from this. Not the way they should.

There was suddenly a touch to the top of his hand. Piers looked down at the woman and wished he’d had the courage to ask her out ages ago. Better than her dying in his arms, both of them likely full of regret. “Piers,” she whispered haggardly, weakly clutching at his hand. Piers turned his own palm over so he could tangle their fingers together, their tactical gloves make it awkward and heavy. “You gotta stay with Chris… Help him— I know that you two can—”

Merah suddenly cut off in a violent coughing fit, red spraying in the air. Piers felt like he was dying with her as he clung to her hand, inwardly pleading for her to stay but knowing he could never say the words aloud because it wouldn’t be fair to ask that of her. “Merah,” he choked out as her gaze grew glassy. 

“Merah!” Chris shouted desperately. “Hang in there! Stay with us!” Chris was begging— Piers’s heart broke all over again at the sound of his captain’s agony. 

Merah looked to him with glazed eyes, the life leaving her slowly. “Promise me, Piers?”

Piers opened his mouth to make that promise but—

Her arm suddenly dropped.

She was gone.

Piers hadn’t even been able to promise—

Emotion overwhelmed him. He brought Merah into his arms, into his chest, pressing his face into her neck and holding her as tight as he’d always wished he could. A ragged scream tore itself from his lungs, but it did nothing to quell the anguish strangling him. She was lifeless in his arms, growing colder by the second. Another light snuffed out by the viruses, another corpse for the BSAA to bury, another body for the statistics, but to him, Merah was so much more. His grab for normalcy, for a future, for hope, his need to nurture and fight alongside those that he loved, Merah was what he wanted the world to be like when the fighting was done, Merah was what made him believe there were still good people worth defending, Merah was his beacon in the dark, _Merah was gone._

He screamed long and loud and still felt unheard. The world would never understand the pain in his chest— it just kept moving cruelly forward, Chris flying them steadily through the air. They had brought out a survivor and lost one of their own. They’d been _useless._

They couldn’t save _anyone._

A hand rested itself on his back, and Piers knew it was Ricky, the kid they’d brought out of hell and given a second chance. 

Maybe—

Maybe it was worth it— Piers felt like it wasn’t, but he couldn’t begrudge the kid for surviving. But Piers didn’t know how long he could keep going if he kept losing his people left and right. Now, all Piers had was Chris. And by god, Piers was going to honor Merah’s dying wish of him until his own final breath. 

Piers was never leaving Chris’s side— not for anything.

. . .

The bar was quiet despite how full it was, average people milling about and enjoying their meals and drinks. The music playing over the speakers went over Chris’s head, just useless background noise that did nothing for his thoughts or his mood. 

It had been two weeks since the breakout at Marhawa Academy, a tragedy that the media had dubbed “Marhawa Desire.” A tasteless name for a massive waste of young and innocent life. Chris was still left reeling from it all. Incidents involving kids had always been the hardest for him to recover from, and losing Merah on top of that—

Beside him, Piers cut into his steak while Chris nursed his handle of whiskey. Chris had chosen whiskey because it reminded him of Leon. He’d bought Piers a steak because the young man’s hands had been shaking lately, always needing something to preoccupy them. Chris knew it was the PTSD, the mind needing a distraction from the darker thoughts, and horrible memories. He just hoped the kid didn’t try to throw himself into the field with the ongoing tremors— Chris wasn’t going to let Piers get himself killed just to make good on an unfinished promise. 

Still— Chris knew where he was coming from. While Chris didn’t have anything similar to Piers’s level of loss, he knew loss anyways. He knew what it was like to think of a smile and feel only pain. He knew what it was like to turn around in an empty room, expecting someone to be there out of pure instinct and desire for a time long gone. How many times had Chris gone into hell, picked up something new to defend himself with, and wondered what kind of cheesy name Leon would give it? Loss was a sickness with undying symptoms. Chris knew there was no other way to help Piers but fill the empty space and keep his mind off of all the terrible things.

Chris sighed and stared at the perspiration from his glass that was wetting the skin of his fingertips. Speaking of filling the empty space— “… How’s Ricky holding up?”

“Repeated examinations show he has no sign of infection, so monitoring has been cancelled.” Odd, considering Ricky reported being bitten. So the virus spread only through the air— from the BOW Nanan had become— and not through body fluids. Then how had the school become infected so quickly? Unless the infection being spread by bite had an expiration date? Just what the fuck had been in the Marhawa Academy students? And what did the cloaked woman have to do with all of it? 

“As soon as it monitoring was done, he quit school and hit the road,” Piers continued. “No one has heard from him since.”

Not good— the kid had gone through a lot over the course of a few days. The trauma was debilitating. Chris hoped the kid had found something good to occupy him rather than Ricky drowning himself in misery.

“It really messed him up, huh?” Chris asked dully, glancing to Piers and seeing him take another bite of his steak. Of course it had messed him up— the Arklay mansion had messed Chris and Jill and Barry up, Raccoon city had ruined Leon and Claire. Yhese viruses did nothing but kill from the outside in and destroy the survivors from the inside out.

“Who can blame him?” Piers asked tiredly. “If I have another call like that…”

Merah’s voice hung heavy in the air between them, unsaid. Chris couldn’t get the image of Piers holding her body so closely to his heart out of his mind. 

“Yeah,” Chris agreed softly, throwing back the whiskey and wincing at the burn, thinking only of Leon in the most self-destructive way. “I hear you.”

Quiet fell between them again— a death sentence. Piers’s silverware clinked as he set it down on the chefs board this place had given him in lieu of a plate. Chris waited, knowing the man was about to say something, waiting patiently. 

He remembered first meeting Piers— he remembered the fight he’d seen in the young man’s eyes. He remembered thinking he’d do anything to protect Piers from the reality of this unending war. Chris realized he had failed spectacularly already.

“I miss her.” Piers’s voice was almost a whisper, and yet Chris heard it like a gunshot. “I keep thinking about her, like she should be here, which is strange because we were never even in the same branch and we saw each other once in a blue moon. And yet my brain insists she should be here.” His face scrunches up with confusion. “How is that? I barely had her before, and yet my mind is suddenly dead set on the fact that she should be with me for every waking second. How is that possible when it wasn’t like that before?”

Chris swallowed hard, waving the bartender over for more whiskey. “… I know what you mean.” 

Piers’s head snapped towards Chris in his peripheral vision. “… yeah? What do you mean?”

Chris grimaced, clutching his empty glass tightly. The bartender filled it for him with a small, tired smile, and Chris nodded his gratitude before throwing the whole double shot back, needing the liquid courage for what he was about to rehash.

“I’ve told you about a man,” he began quietly. “That untouchable hero I’ve never named. You keep saying he isn’t real, I say he is, we get a laugh out of it and move on. But he is real, Piers. And he’s…” Chris heaved a sigh. “He’s the thing I regret most in life.”

Piers nodded slowly, eyes sharp and attentive. Chris knew the man had been after this story for a long time. Chris wished he could be telling it under better circumstances. 

“It was Raccoon City,” he remembered quietly. “I’d gone in looking for my sister.”

“Claire,” Piers said with another nod. He knew bits and pieces already, but the things that mattered were what Chris had always left out. “She was in Raccoon City with that cop, right? I’ve heard about it from her.”

Chris nodded. “I was with the cop. He was—“ Chris suddenly cut off. “Shit.”

“You don’t have to tell me.”

Chris appreciated the way out, but he refused to take it. “He was a good man.” Chris forced himself to continue. “He shouldn’t have been in that situation. It was his first day on the force, barely twenty-one years old, thrown right into hell without remorse. I’d found him wandering the building, solving the stupid puzzles the chief put in place to control the station. The kid was trying to save one of my buddies, Lieutenant Marvin Branagh. Another good man, but infected. The kid thought he could help him, could save him.” Chris grimaced and ran a hand through his short hair. “… He was wrong, in the end. Marvin Branagh turned. I was— readying myself to put down another one of my friends when the kid suddenly took the shot for me. It was funny in a sick sort of way. He’d gotten so attached to Branagh, and yet he so quickly made the distinction between alive and infected… for me. He took the shot so I wouldn’t have to. He did it for me.”

He paused again and Piers gave him a tight smile. “Sounds like he’d be good in the BSAA.”

Chris needed another drink and waved for it desperately. “I survived Raccoon City at that kid’s side and he— etched himself into my brain.” Another glass was poured for him and he threw it back, grateful he was walking home tonight. “We got split up once it was over. Such a traumatic experience, molding myself into being at his side and relying on him in a way I’ve never been able to rely on someone before, and then he was suddenly _gone._ I’d only known him for a night, but to this day I— I-I still look for him. Behind me. At my side. At the front. I look for him everywhere because that night changed me and then took it all away.”

Chris took a breath. “… I did terrible things to him. And terrible things _for_ him.” Krauser’s blood flecking Chris’s skin, his lips, his tongue, the rage coursing through Chris like a drug as Leon looked on with red eyes. “And I would do it all again just for the chance to see him.”

Piers was quiet for a moment. “… Where is he now?”

“Dead.”

He couldn’t tell Piers the man was alive because he knew Piers would search endlessly for him. And Leon might as well be dead, after all. Chris had told himself that he would be fighting for a future that would allow him to be with Leon, but he’d been naïve. It was never going to happen. Chris wanted another shot of poison but refused, knowing he couldn’t drink himself into a dead stupor since he’d be alone tonight. “He fought hard and for as long as he could. He’s gone.”

Piers looked away, staring at his steak, obviously having lost his appetite. “… Has it gotten any easier?”

Chris shook his head. “No.”

Piers nodded. “… Thank you, Captain.”

Chris nodded back. He suddenly couldn’t handle the white noise of the bar. “I’m gonna go,” he said, standing from his seat, fumbling for his jacket. “I need— I gotta go.”

Piers gave him a small wave, watching Chris with understanding in his eyes that Chris hated. He rushed from the bar, feeling like he was suffocating until the cold air hit him hard and made him recalibrate. Chris leaned against the wall of the outside of the bar, his jacket useless in his grip, and ran a hand over his face.

“You need therapy,” he told himself dully. If things were so bad that he couldn’t even help his right hand man— Chris pulled on his jacket and headed down the sidewalk, going home and hoping he’d drank enough to allow himself to just pass out the second his head hit the pillow.

. . .

Chris was gone for only five minutes before a man was taking Chris’s seat, dropping down next to Piers and waving for the bartender. “Let me buy you a drink,” the stranger said, casual and uncaring. Piers looked to the guy in tired shock, taking in the blond hair and striking blue eyes, the leather jacket laid over a button up with blue jeans and well-used boots. There was a bump at the bottom of the man’s spine— concealed carrying, illegal in Canada unless there was an extenuating permit. The man was _someone_ , Piers could gleam that much. He wondered if he was in some sort of trouble— he also wondered why this guy was _very_ familiar.

“Uh—” Was this guy Canadian? He didn’t sound like it. “— Thank you?”

“Don’t mention it,” the man said, waving him off as the bartender came forward. “I’ll have a whiskey sour,” he said before cutting his chin to Piers. “And whatever he wants.”

The bartender smiled softly at him. “The usual, Piers?”

“Yeah,” he replied, still a little put off by this whole situation. “Thanks, Lara.”

She nodded and went to make their drinks, She finished quickly, pushing the whiskey sour into the man’s hand, and then the Black Russian into Piers’s. The man arched a brow at his drink. “Didn’t take you for a vodka guy.”

“Didn’t think we knew each other well enough for you to take me for anything at all.” A mouthful, but important. Piers didn’t know this guy despite the vague familiarity. “Is there something I can help you with?”

The guy paused, studying Piers from beneath long, dark lashes that made his blue eyes stand out like ice. Piers felt like he was on a petri dish under that intense gaze. “Yeah— you can.”

Piers tensed, not liking the idea of doing favors for total strangers. But this guy was concealed carrying— he was somebody and he knew someone big enough to let him carry at all. He could even be BSAA.

“I need you to do something for me,” the man said, tipping his glass back and letting the alcohol trickle past his lips, seemingly graceful in everything he did. The blond hair was so striking that Piers almost felt like this guy was a model more than a soldier. But then he saw the callouses on the pointer finger, almost hidden by fingerless gloves that were definitely for grip and not fashion, the palms worn of their design. Piers looked back up at that sharp, angled face again and wondered what kind of soldier looked like _this._ “I need you to keep an eye on Chris for me.”

Piers blinked slowly at the request. “… Who are you?”

The man turned to him, eyes glinting. “An old friend of his. That’s all.”

“Uh-huh,” Piers said firmly. “And would Chris recognize you, old friend?”

“In a heartbeat.” The words are somber, cold. Piers had no idea how to read this man or his relationship to Chris. “… I came to check on you and him, really, concerning that op you both just came back from. I have a couple questions, but I… I wanted to say I’m sorry.” The man put the glass down, looking down at his knuckles, at the wood of the bar beneath. “Losing someone— it hurts. I’m sorry you had to go through that.”

Piers felt his breath catch in his throat. “Who the fuck are you?” How did he know about this? How did he have access to the files, the reports? How did he know confidential security information from the BSAA? And how the hell had he even found him and Chris?

The guy sat up a little straighter. “… I’m Agent Kennedy of DSO.”

Piers’s eyes flitted about, the name so— “Holy shit,” he said, suddenly dumbstruck. “Kennedy? As in the Kennedy report? In Spain?” Agent Kennedy nodded, his expression still unreadable. Piers suddenly couldn’t believe he was sitting with a legend among the troops. “Chris— told me a lot about Spain. Said we learned a lot. That you helped a lot with the information you gathered to better ready the BSAA for the combat they saw in Africa.” He sat back with a stupid grin pulling at his cheeks. “Holy shit— you’re The Kennedy.”

“You know me from before that,” Agent Kennedy said softly. When Piers gave him a confused look, the agent looked ahead again, hiding his eyes from Piers behind the blond hair. “Harvardville Airport.”

Piers sat forward hard, eyes huge as he stared at the man with renewed interest and— and a little bit of awe. “Holy shit,” he whispered, too stunned to be a little more original. This man— it was _him_ , the reason why Piers was here, why he was fighting, why he was the man he’d become. _Agent Kennedy was the man who had brought Piers his future._ “I—”

He trailed off, unable to think of the words to say. Agent Kennedy glanced to him, guarded. Piers’s mouth was dry. He wet his lips and just settled with, “Thank you for all you’ve done for me, Sir.”

Agent Kennedy flinched, but Piers wasn’t sure why. “What have I done for you?” he asked dully. “Got you roped into a death sentence with these BOWs. Now you lost a team member and everything’s just going to get worse. Why would you thank me for that?”

“You gave me a reason,” Piers replied with a shrug, realizing he shouldn’t have expected much telling his inspiration that he’d _inspired_ him. Men who lived and breathed combat didn’t normally like to be thanked. “I was just in the fight cause my dad and my grandfather had been in the fight before I was born. Like carrying on the family trade. You actually gave me a reason to hold my gun and move forward rather than just following in footsteps.” He smiled softly down at his drink, wondering if his grandfather would be proud of him. “It was good— I looked up to you and I didn’t even know who you were. I wanted to stand at your side and fight with you. I wanted— I didn’t want to be afraid. Just like you weren’t afraid.”

Agent Kennedy looked at him for a long moment. “… I was fucking terrified, Piers.”

“Yeah, now that I’ve been in this for so long, I figured you were.” Even Chris was scared when he thought Piers couldn’t see it. “This shit— it’s all awful.”

Agent Kennedy nodded a little. “It’s pretty bad.”

Piers waited for him to say more, then realized he’d derailed this conversation pretty badly. “Sorry,” he said sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck. “I just hadn’t expected— you’re like a legend, you know that? Everything in Spain— and then I find out you’re the agent from Harvardville. I’ve been chasing after one of the most notorious yet unknown BOW killers there is. It feels like I’m meeting a celebrity.”

The blond man scoffed. “Well— I guess it wouldn’t hurt then.”

Piers frowned. “What wouldn’t hurt?”

Agent Kennedy sipped his whiskey. “My name is Leon S. Kennedy.”

Piers digested this slowly, pursing his lips. He remembered a Leon—

“I’m the guy who brought you into that mall,” Leon S. Kennedy told him.

Piers’s jaw almost hit the floor. “You— You. On the phone. Eastern Slav Republic.”

Leon S. Kennedy grimaced and nodded. “That’s me, kid.”

Piers stared at this man in awe and felt— almost a little anxious. The experiences were stacking up, one on top of the other, a list of horrible situations that this man before him had fallen into and survived. Piers knew that the people who had been in the fight since the beginning had traumatic experiences enough to cripple the average person, but this guy—

Piers wet his lips. He tried to think of something that didn’t include what they did as soldiers. “… Chris seemed really happy to talk to you.”

Leon S. Kennedy’s blue eyes snapped to Piers, bright and arresting. Piers saw the hand not he glass flex and grip tight, knuckles white in the low light of the bar. Even the man’s jaw visibly tensed like the agent was holding something back. “… Is that so.”

Piers nodded. “You guys know each other long?”

Leon S. Kennedy looked away. “Not as long as you’d think.”

“Did you fight together?” Piers suddenly realized he was talking to someone who knew Chris in a way Piers didn’t— a person who could tell Piers more about his captain. He’d been emailing Claire Redfield on and off, desperate for anything, especially photos of Chris as a kid. Piers had an insatiable desire to show his captain that Chris really did mean so much more to him than just the hierarchy— Chris had become Piers’s family, and Piers wanted to know him like family in turn. “Do you know that guy he worked with before? In Raccoon City? The really good cop?”

Leon S. Kennedy flinched bodily. “What?”

“The man that he always talks about,” Piers explained, positive that Leon S. Kennedy would know. Chris talked about that guy to _everyone,_ even local police and military that weren’t BOW affiliated. Agent Kennedy had to know him too. “The cop from Raccoon City. The one Chris— the one Chris says he wishes were his partner today.”

Leon S. Kennedy ran his thumb over the rim of his glass. “Chris talks pretty highly of the guy, huh?”

“I just heard about him for the first time tonight,” Piers admitted. “I was wondering if I could know more. The guy sounds like he was amazing.”

“Don’t listen to Chris,” Agent Kennedy said. “That cop of his was an annoying little shit. Always looking for the good in everyone when it doesn’t exist. Way too trusting. Made stupid jokes, too. A fucking nuisance. He had the _worst_ puns.”

Piers hadn’t been expecting that, but he had an inkling that Chris had a better idea of who the guy was than Agent Kennedy. Piers was pretty sure Agent Kennedy hadn’t worked with the guy, since it sounded like Chris and the guy had been close, and Chris had gone into Europe and BSAA pretty quickly. He paused, wondering if he could learn anything else from Agent Kennedy despite Agent Kennedy’s likely unfamiliarity with the man.

“How— how did he die?”

The man froze, staring at Piers like he’d grown a second head. Piers almost wondered if Agent Kennedy hadn’t known this guy was dead until— “… The success of the mission and the wellbeing of the future necessitated he be left behind.” Leon S. Kennedy turned away quickly and took a sharp swig of his drink, notably different from how he’d been sipping from the glass before. “That’s why these days Chris won’t leave a man behind no matter what— not ever again.”

That was— “That’s awful,” Piers whispered. “Chris isn’t that kind guy.”

“He wasn’t fully informed when making the decision,” Leon S. Kennedy said stiffly. “He thought the guy was gonna be fine.”

Piers nodded slowly, some of this lining up with what he already knew. Chris had been lied to, likely by his superiors, and he’d lost an important person because of it. It explained why Chris didn’t trust easily— especially people in suits. “Wish I could’ve met the guy.”

Leon S. Kennedy laughed, the sound bitter and almost painful. “No, you don’t.” Piers bristled, ready to defend this unknown soldier and his captain, now more sure than ever that Agent Kennedy didn’t know what he was talking about— and that he wasn’t the man Piers had admired and sought to emulate— but Agent Kennedy suddenly slapped a few bills on the bar top and stood, making to leave. 

“You have no idea what’s gone down,” Agent Kennedy said. “And you have no idea who the man Chris is describing really is. Chris worships a dead god and everyone just lets it happen, they let him be miserable, no one even bothers to force his hand and either help him move on or help him _do_ something about it, no one fucking—”

Leon S. Kennedy suddenly cut himself off, and Piers was forced to reevaluate his previous assumption of this guy possibly being an asshole. 

It was— strange. While Agent Kennedy said cruel things concerning the fallen man Chris so obviously respected, it was simultaneously clear as day that the agent cared about Chris far more than most people showed. It was a well known fact around the BSAA that Chris was in a bad way and had been for years, but no one really ever did anything about it. It was why Piers was so desperate to show Chris he was just as attached to the man as Chris seemed to be to him— Piers wanted Chris to know that he wasn’t alone. That Piers would always be there for him. And for Agent Kennedy to be so passionate about Chris actually healing rather than drowning—

“I came to you because I have a favor to ask,” Agent Kennedy suddenly said. “I know I shouldn’t even ask it after saying that kind of shit, but frankly, I can’t be bothered to give a damn anymore. So I’m gonna ask something of you.”

Piers nodded, figuring he’d leave it up to his own discretion if he went through with the favor or not. Again, Agent Kennedy seemed harsh, but to care so much about Chris—

“I came here to ask you to do something for me,” he said, not meeting Piers’s eyes. “I came to ask you to look out for Chris.” 

Piers went rigid, hearing Merah’s request of him echoing in his skull and pricking his chest like needles. “I don’t need you to tell me to do that.” 

Leon S. Kennedy nodded like that was somehow enough. “Good— I need him alive. This time next year, I’m asking him out on a date.” 

Piers blinked stupidly. “... Huh?” 

“You heard me,” The agent said firmly. “Tell him Leon is going to ask him out on a date this time next year, and that he needs to be alive for it. I’ve been working hard to get to a place where it’s a possibility. I’m not gonna let shit hold me back anymore— I’m not gonna let shit hold me back from _him._ So you go to him and tell him that this time next year, Leon S. Kennedy is asking him out on a date. And he’s not gonna say no.” He gave Piers time to digest this, who was reeling from the shock of the request. “Will you do that for me?” 

Piers hesitated. “You’re not some sort of stalker, are you?”

A painful laugh burst from the man’s lips, and there was no real smile to accompany it. “I’m— fuck, I don’t even know anymore.” The agent looked away. “Just— please. Tell him for me. It’s been a long time coming. Don’t let him do anything stupid, alright? I need him alive.”

Piers nodded, still so confused but feeling like this wasn’t something he had the right to interfere with. That phone call from so long ago— how Chris’s expression had softened in a way Piers had never see before at the sound of the man’s voice— “I’ll tell him.”

Leon S. Kennedy gave him a tight smile and a short nod. “Thank you. And one more thing?”

Piers braced himself for another bewildering statement— jesus, was Chris even into men? Piers had never seen him look at _anyone_ regardless of gender, did this guy even know if Chris would agree to the date?— and gave him a wave of a hand as a go ahead. Then— 

Leon S. Kennedy stared at Piers— _into_ Piers— for a very long time. For a moment, the bar melted away, Piers left hypnotized under those blue eyes, wondering if he should be scared for his life or if he would ever be with any safer man aside from Chris. This agent had fought for so long— he was beyond skilled, beyond strong. Agent Kennedy had faced down countless villains and breeds of BOWs and always torn through them like they were nothing. Leon S. Kennedy was a monster in his own right, but a monster that was on their side. Piers had no idea how to feel about any of this.

Then Leon S. Kennedy opened his mouth and said, “Take care of yourself. Survive. I want you alive in the end too, got it? So all that shitty suicide the BSAA praises and labels martyrdom? Don’t do it. Ever. And if not for me, but for Chris. He can’t lose anyone else.” Leon S. Kennedy paused, and then nodded, mostly to himself, like he was affirming his own words. “Got it?”

Piers nodded slowly, thinking only of Merah and how he wished she had survived Marhawa, not him. Was that what Agent Kennedy was talking about? Was he criticizing Merah’s decision to die for him? Or was he talking about Piers’s wish that he had died instead? It was all so fucked up that Piers didn’t even know up from down anymore, so he only nodded again, expression sobering. Words failed him. He went with the tried and true, “Yessir, Mr. Kennedy.”

Leon S. Kennedy grimaced. “Don’t call me that.” He turned away. “Tell Chris for me and keep yourself alive. That’s all you gotta do.” 

He left immediately, not letting Piers have the last word. And Piers was just— so very confused by so many things. Who Agent Kennedy really was and who he was to Chris, who the fallen soldier was and why there seemed to be such polar opposite views of him, and—

Piers really had _no fucking clue_ if his captain was into men. He almost felt like it wasn’t his place to find out. He wondered if he could email Claire about Agent Kennedy, maybe get a little more information before he subjected his captain to anything unsavory. 

Piers turned back to the drink Leon S. Kennedy had bought him and just felt exhausted. Normally, he would hate such a feeling, but for once, he welcomed it. He’d come to this bar hoping to wear himself out so he could sleep without trouble, fall into a deep enough stupor to fend off the nightmares. Thankfully, Leon S. Kennedy had put his mind in such a whirlwind that Piers was sure he’d get the best night’s sleep he’d had in years.

Piers finished off the drink, stood, and left. His head was telling him not to tell Chris about the agent’s intention to date; there were too many variables, too many blindspots, and too much going on. But his gut— his gut was insisting he do it. Because Agent Kennedy had seemed like a special kind of defeated even through the optimism of his words, and Chris was clinically broken in a way Piers couldn’t fix on his own. Maybe Piers didn’t know who Agent Kennedy was, but Agent Kennedy knew Chris, and Chris knew him. Maybe Piers needed to let go of the idea that he could fix Captain Chris Redfield himself and accept some help.

Maybe Leon S. Kennedy could do more for Chris than Piers could even imagine.

Piers trudged back to the barracks, clinging to this singular thought, and convinced himself that it was the only thing he could really do. He’d tell Chris about this agent tomorrow and hope for the best.

He’d _pray_ for the best— for Chris’s sake.


End file.
